


art is a lie

by jaegermighty



Category: Lady Gaga (Musician)
Genre: Multi
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2010-08-05
Updated: 2010-08-05
Packaged: 2017-10-10 22:57:21
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 470
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/105331
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/jaegermighty/pseuds/jaegermighty
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Her little monsters knew the truth anyway, the precious darlings. (drabble)</p>
            </blockquote>





	art is a lie

1\. She dies, sort of.

(It's all very scandalous, a yacht off the coast of Melbourne, a young boy in silver eyeshadow, mysterious disappearance, shadow of a splash. Photos in The Enquirer, a streak of blood on the railing, one heel upended on the wet bar, champagne smears and poor Julian, hogtied in the cabin. She'd forgotten to set him free in her haste, he must've been black and blue by the time they'd found him.

It's all so delicious, and she sips whiskey and tweets from her secret hideaway, _april fools,_ laughs because she thinks she can hear the drama from her duvet. Her little monsters knew the truth, anyway, the precious darlings. They love conspiracies as much as she does; they taste like chocolate mousse.

She toasts the clouds, splits open a fresh tube of lipstick with her thumbnail. Life is good, until it's not.)

2\. She learns how to play the trumpet, among others.

(Releases an album and every single fucking sound that's there, she makes herself, because she can.

_Difficult_, the executives say._ Slow. Not worth it_.

_Mine,_ she says, _deal with it._)

3\. She marries.

(A woman, then a man, then a woman again, before settling on all three of them. They rotate, it's all very even. She keeps her shoes in New York, her handcuffs in London, her makeup in New Orleans. Pictures in frames on walls, interviews where she's forced to wear pants. They ask her, _don't you get jealous? How does this work, we don't understand, tell us, tell us, how how how?_

_My heart is too big for just one person,_ she says, and ashes her cigarette.

_Crazy,_ they say, and she laughs and agrees.)

4\. Escapes, maybe.

(This time, she's a man, Jo's his name, Brooklyn boy, tight jeans and cowboy boots, guitar calluses and jutted-out chin.

He does some shows in Montreal, acid-wash jeans, metal-infused rock and roll. He stuffs his jeans with rolled-up fingerless gloves, fingers the bouncer's girlfriend and licks his hands after, sneer-laughing to himself.

He has to be controlled, after a bit. He's too dangerous to be let out for very long, but she knows what she's doing.)

5\. She flies, or something like it.

(Skydives off the Eiffel Tower, a camcorder in one hand. Writes poetry and publishes it under a pen name. Buys the most expensive car she can find and takes it apart and puts it together again, just to prove she can. Asks for more Grammys, and gets them. Finds beautiful people to tie up in her bedrooms, takes photos with cameras eighty years old and thumbtacks them to her ceiling, wiggling her toes at them at night.

_What's next, for Lady Gaga?_ they ask. _Is there anything you can't do?_

_Of course not,_ she says, and laughs. They never learn.)

**Author's Note:**

> prompt: Lady Gaga in thirty years


End file.
